


Drop Spins and Dropped Tosses

by ImaginationCubed



Series: The Galaxy Garrison Univserity Marching Bands [3]
Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Marching Band, Fluffy Ending, Keith can't dance, M/M, heat of the moment arguments, keith takes care of Lance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-30
Updated: 2018-10-30
Packaged: 2019-08-10 22:33:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,951
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16463633
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ImaginationCubed/pseuds/ImaginationCubed
Summary: Twelve hours a day everyday was a huge amount of dedication. Each and every rehearsal drug on until their skin was sunburned, their muscles were sore, and their hands were blistered.Yet, somehow Lance always found himself scheduling extra time to squeeze in every ounce of practice he could. After all, everyone would see through his charade of competency soon enough if he didn't. Luckily, a certain someone is around to keep him from pushing himself too far.





	Drop Spins and Dropped Tosses

**Author's Note:**

> There's talk about standing on drums and while yes it is possible and my drumline friend confirmed that is was, no it is not recommended unless you instructor says so... or you're just in drum corps and you were told to stand on a drum like the one "yer on my dot" meme.
> 
> Also a note for explanation's sake for anyone who's not familiar with marching band: Carolina Crown is a drum corps band. Drum corps is essentially professional marching band but college student aged people participate in it. The best of the best perform with them and it's audition based.

Lance stepped back, solidly planting his right foot on the forty-five yard line. Extending his hand, he waited for Keith to join him. The gock continued on in the background at the steady beat of the show tempo, each collision of the drumstick and plastic Shiro created signaled another verbal count from the band.

“One, two,  _ three _ —” Lance counted, emphasizing the three as the significant number. Releasing Keith’s hand, he stood back, leaving ample space between them. “Come on Keith, we’ve done this set five times. On three, you’re supposed to pull me forward.” A tone of annoyance tainted Lance’s words, “Aren’t you drumline captain or something? Shouldn’t you be good at counts and stuff?”

“I’ve never  _ danced _ before!” Keith snapped. On any other day, he would have been able to deal with rerunning the same set for the umpteenth time in the same hour but not when he was sunburned on his sunburn and through his third bottle of water for the afternoon.

“And I never spun a rifle before I got to college but look at me now on the rifle line.” Lance retorted, crossing his arms. 

“Most people don’t toss weapons in the air recreationally, so there’s not a lot of competition.”

“Set!” Shiro called to the band from atop the podium.

The entire ensemble snapped to attention, awaiting Shiro’s next command. After a few clicks, the unanimous counting began again.

“One, two,  _ three _ ,” Lance stepped closer to Keith, compensating for the lack of force that he anticipated from his dance partner, “four, five,  _ six _ —fuck!” The tip of his sneaker met Keith’s, stealing Lance’s balance and gifting him with a face full of hot astroturf. Pushing himself up with his hands, his face immediately turned towards Keith. “You do know dancing involves moving your feet, right?”

“And being in marching band involves being in your drill spot.”

“We’re doing a dance feature. There is no drill spot! Our drill spot is  _ don’t get in anyone’s way _ .”

“And the saxophone section is right behind us!” Keith pointed to the group in question with his index finger and a light stomp of his foot.

“I get this close with a flag! We’re fine as long as we’re not being dumb. Now come on. If you can’t count then just sing the words. Take my  _ hand _ , we’ll make it I swear.” Lance instructed as he demonstrated the dance once more, singing and emphasizing specific words.

With a roll of his eyes, Keith let himself follow Lance’s lead. Upon completion, he gazed upwards to check if the duo had missed a command or not from their drum major.

“See? Easy. This isn’t even the set where you pick me up. All you have to do is grab my hand, pull me forward, and spin with me.” Lance said, wiping the sweat off his forehead with his shirt.

“Easy for you to say. I don’t dance.” Keith grumbled.

“Oh, just wait for the work Matt put into the show.” Lance grinned, “I get to toss a quint on a rifle while standing on your snare drum.”

“I’m going to die.” Keith sighed.

“Hey! What’s that supposed to mean?”

“You’re going to drop the rifle on me.”

“Excuse you! I only dropped the rifle on my face  _ once _ .”

“Enough times to prove my point.”

“You’re impossible.”

“I didn’t know my face was a mirror.”

“Ha ha, real funny.”

Keith gave him a disinterested shrug of his shoulders.

“Of everyone I’m stuck with this feature for, it’s you. How did—” Lance began.

“Focus!” Matt called from the sidelines, “This is important. If you guys aren’t in the rehearsal mindset, I’ll send you home.”

“Everyone else is learning their drill right now, but you two don’t have any for this song,” Shiro added on, “so if you’re bickering then you’re wasting everyone else’s time.”

“Here, Keith, give me your number,” Matt waved Keith over from the sideline, “I’m going to send you a video of the dance feature. It should be enough for you both to learn without arguing. I’d send you both off to practice alone but the band needs to know where you’ll be during these sets so we don’t have collisions later.”

“If they know their drill, it won’t be a problem.” Keith countered, handing the color guard captain his cell phone.

“Yeah, but not everyone marched in Carolina Crown over the summer.” Matt tapped Keith’s number into his phone, “I know you want the band to be their best, but some people just aren’t as fast at picking this stuff up as you. Remember that, alright? I know we’re all hungry and tired, but rehearsal’s not going to be any more productive by giving people attitude. Especially Lance. He’s not going to get anymore pleasant if you’re talking like that.”

“But—” Keith protested.

“I know. I’m going to have a talk with him too. I’m not singling you out. I’m his section leader. I’m aware of how he gets during band camp.” Matt assured, “Get back on the field, and I’ll call him over.”

With a reluctant nod, Keith returned to the rest of the ensemble. 

* * *

The pungent chemical odor tainted the air as bug spray escaped from the canister and onto Lance’s skin. Twelve hours of band a day everyday for a week and a half had not been enough practice. Despite participating in the umpteenth run of the day, he was still failing. There was always at least one drill spot he missed, at least one toss he dropped, or one count he was slightly off on. Yeah, it may have only been the very beginning of the season, but he had so much work to do if he wanted to reach his full potential by November break. That is, if he had any at all.

This time last year, when he was a freshman, he only knew the basics of  flag and dance. Now that he’d somehow made it into the color guard captain’s praises, he was expected to not only toss and catch a quint perfectly, but to do it while standing on a snare drum. And not just any snare drum,  _ Keith’s _ snare drum. It was one thing to be doing a dance feature, but it was a whole other level to be doing a dance feature with the university’s percussion prodigy.

Lance slid on his tan guard gloves, mentally preparing himself to further aggravate the obvious bone bruise he had already managed to give himself when he messed up his catch. It had been less than an hour since the band director had let them out for the night, but there was still more Lance needed to do. He looked up into the sky at the moon, which wasn’t casting nearly enough light for him to come out of his impromptu practice unscathed. After his first guard weapon-head collision, it was only logical for a small amount of caution to sink into his thoughts every time he performed. This time, however, he pushed his instincts aside in order to perfect his performance. There was too much at stake if he messed up. Everyone would be staring at him and Keith standing in the middle of the field on the  _ fifty-yard line _ . There was absolutely  _ no  _ room for error. If he dropped the toss,  _ everyone  _ would see,  _ everyone  _ would know, and the gossip would never cease. The secret would be out. Everyone would know his supposed talent was nothing but a charade.

He refused to be the reason the band lost nationals this year.

Lance leaned over and took the rifle into his hands, beginning his warm ups. A few drop spins, each one landing perfectly of course, then a lock before his single rotation toss. Easy. First rep down. He moved onto a double rotation toss, then a triple, pushing himself further each time around. He braced himself before each toss, breathing in on the prep, exhaling when he caught. Again, and again, and again, and again.

He tossed: three and a half rotations. He tossed again: three rotations. And another time: four rotations, but fucked up the catch.  _ Not good enough _ . Out again: four rotations, caught smoothly. Once more: four and a half, incorrect catch. Finally, a powerful toss: five rotations, complete drop.

It was hopeless. Every time he pushed himself just that much further,  he failed. The struggle was nothing but a futile battle against his own clumsiness. There was no point in trying anymore, there was no way he would reach the quint he needed in time for the first game. He was just holding the band back, holding his section back, holding  _ Keith  _ back. He had no idea why the captain thought he was a good pick for the feature. He couldn’t land a quint correctly, he was terrible at working with Keith, and he was terrible at color guard.

He should’ve just stuck to flag. It would’ve been less embarrassing in the end. 

Lance picked up the fake weapon, prepping to toss again. It was too late to request a change now. He should have told Matt that Allura deserved the feature more than he did, but they’d already learned the drill for the song. With each toss of her baton was a perfect catch, and she upstaged everyone with an amazing show every time. She would’ve looked stunning as the one standing atop Keith’s snare drum, tossing her batons above both of their heads.

Too caught up in his own thoughts to focus on catching the rifle, it came down on his right wrist, hard.

“Fuck!” Lance shouted, letting the rifle fall onto the grass to clutch his new injury. “Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck.” He stomped his foot and bit his bottom lip almost hard enough to draw blood as he attempted to will away the sudden burst of pain.

“Are you okay?” A voice came from the pathway by the little patch of grass where Lance was practicing.

“Fine,” Lance hissed. He glanced up and was barely able to make out his observer in the darkness: Keith. How long had he been there?

“Come here, let me see it.” Keith beckoned him over, stepping forward to pick up the rifle and coax Lance to come closer.

“I’m fine,” Lance repeated as he walked over to Keith to retrieve his equipment, “It’s color guard. These things happen all the time. I have this really nasty bruise on my thigh from a sabre that I got yesterday.”

Keith frowned. “You shouldn’t be practicing in the dark like this. You could sprain your wrist, and you’ll miss a ton of your season.” Keith gingerly took Lance’s wrist into his hands and examined its as best as he could in the low light. “There’s no swelling.”

Lance smirked. “See, told you.”

“Let me care about you.” 

“Fine.”

“Let’s sit for a bit,” Keith suggested, guiding Lance to the ground, “Give your wrist a break for a moment.”

Lance rolled eyes, but didn’t protest, soaking in every moment Keith’s hand stayed in his.

“Show me your hands real quick?” Keith asked.

“Sure?” Lance slid off his gloves, revealing the calluses and blisters that decorated his hands. “I’m fine, I promise.”

“Mhm.” Keith inspected the inside of Lance’s thumbs before stripping the bag off of his back and digging into it. He pulled out a few colorful bandaids and a small tube of antibiotic cream. “Give me a thumbs up.” Once Lance obliged, he dabbed a small amount of cream onto the blister and protected it with the sturdy adhesive fabric he tore out of the small, white paper package. It was decorated with cartoon-esque sharks.

“You’re making a big deal. They’re just blisters,” Lance groaned.

“They look like they hurt when you spin your flag,” Keith commented as he moved to the other thumb.

“Yeah, but I’m a big boy,” Lance insisted, “I spun Carolina Crown all summer. They’re  _ just blisters _ . I’ll live.”

Keith scoffed as he put the bandaids back into his first aid kit. “I’m aware. I was there. But you’ll get an infection if you leave them open like that.”

“You’re studying pediatrics, right?” Lance’s lips curled upwards mischievously.

“Yes, what about it?” Keith replied warily.

“Then kiss them better.” Lance brought his thumbs to Keith’s face.

“No.” Keith said flatly.

“Oh, come on,.” Lance pouted, “You need to practice for your job. Little kids need their boo-boos kissed.”

“You’re nineteen,” Keith said, unamused.

“Yeah, but you need practice.”

Keith rolled his eyes and sighed in resignation. “You’re not going to stop until I do it, are you?”

“Nope.”

“Fine.” Keith pecked Lance’s bandage, acutely aware of the heat crawling to his cheeks, “Happy?”

“Very.” Lance gave him a shit-eating grin before a silence fell between them. After swatting away a few mosquitoes, he reached over to grab his bug spray and coated himself a second time. “Need any?” he asked, offering the canister to Keith.

“I’m good.”

“Lucky you. My blood is like crack to these fuckers.” Lance leaned back onto the grass, blue eyes gazing up at the stars above them. Keith followed, resting his head beside Lance’s. The sound of crickets and other insects filled the air, serving as a reminder of how far they had fallen into the night, and that soon they’d see the sun’s arrival, gifting them with yet another day with a twelve hour-long rehearsal.

“So, um, I wanted to say sorry,” Keith started. “I was kind of an ass this afternoon.”

“Dude, are you kidding? No need to apologize, it wasn’t your fault I was too frustrated things weren’t working right away that I forgot you’ve never done anything besides drumline. I should’ve remembered that I had a first time doing all of this too, and I would’ve hated if someone acted like it was easy when I was struggling. So, sorry.  _ I’m _ the real asshole.”

“I still didn’t say the nicest things to you,” Keith continued, “and I really want this to be a good season. Which means we need to work together, not against each other.”

“If you want, we can start practicing for an hour after every rehearsal. I know you’re busy with all your pre-med stuff, but the semester hasn’t started yet, so we both have a little extra time right now. I don’t mind teaching you some dance basics,” Lance offered.

“Thanks, I’ll be sure to take you up on that.” Keith folded his hands together with a smile. “So, what brought you out here at ten at night. Aren’t you tired?”

“Yeah, well, I’m not going to get any better at this quint if I coddle myself.”

“It’s just band camp, Lance. It’s okay if we mess up.”

“If I don’t step it up, I’m just going to let everyone down. I wasn’t a good pick for the feature. And you’re right, I’m going to drop that quint too.” Lance let out a sigh, “You’ve never danced before, but you’d probably still be better at it than me by the end of the season. I’m the weakest link.”

“Are you crazy?” Keith turned his head to face Lance. “Lance, you marched with me in Carolina Crown, and you’re trying to call yourself a weak link? You marched in  _ Drum Corps _ ! Don’t act like that’s not amazing, because that’s an insult to me too.”

“Everyone just  _ thinks _ I’m good, but I’m really not.” Lance gently covered his face with his hands. “I’m not like you. I’m not just  _ magically _ good at things. If I don’t work hard they’ll know how bad I am.”

“And you’re working extremely hard right now. I don’t think anyone else has that many blisters right now. Well, I guess they could, but I wouldn’t know because you’re the only one I actually pay attention to.”

“Aww, Keith, you pay attention to me?” Lance teased.

“Oh, shut up.” Keith playfully nudged Lance’s ribs with his elbow, “You know exactly what I meant.”

“Fine, fine.” Lance let out a small laugh. “It’s just hard when everyone suddenly expects you to be amazing just because you made Drum Corps.”

“I know, but you’ll get there. And I know you’ll catch that quint, and the crowd’s going to cheer harder than they have all summer.”

Lance’s face softened, “Thanks buddy…” Silence fell again, the stars shining on above them as the night went on. Keith was so close, yet so far. The inches between them felt like miles. Could he know more about Keith?  _ Would _ he know more about Keith before the season ended? Maybe, he could know now. Turning his head towards Keith, Lance spoke, “Hey Keith?”

“Yeah?”

“So… when I was in Carolina Crown this summer, there was a rumor that despite you being such a hard ass, you did this really funny impression of the announcer.”

“Oh God. Is that following me?” Keith said, mortified.

“Yep.”

“And you want me to do it I’m guessing?”

“Bingo.” Lance chuckled.

Keith let out a sigh too dramatic to be real, “Fine. ‘It’s Curalina Crn!’” Keith said, mimicking the announcer to a T and earning a laugh from the man beside him.

“Thank you,” Lance joked, scooting a little closer to Keith, “I’m going to treasure this moment forever.”

“You’re never hearing me do that again.” 

“It’s okay. I can die happy now.” 

“You better die from giving the audience the best damn performance they’ve ever seen.”

A warm smile spread over Lance’s face at Keith’s words. “Alright. I’ll live a little longer then, just for you.”

“We’re going to kill it. And that includes you,” Keith assured.

Lance threaded his fingers with Keith’s, reveling in their warmth and squeezed.  “I’m looking forward to it.”


End file.
